Feeling as conspicuous as, well, a 'guardian angel' with a sneer on their face walking across Heaven, I continued to traverse the short distance, not returning any smiles that were being sent my way.

Despite the aloof hastiness at which I decided my plan, there was a large weight resting on my shoulders, a weight that wasn't just the wings that were magically positioned on my back.

I could die.

And sure, technically, I'm already dead. I've been through Hell, Purgatory, Heaven. I'm not exactly alive.

But if you get fatally injured in the afterlife, that's it.

Poof, bang, fizzle. Gone.

Disintegrated into a pile of dust and swept along in the wind.

Great, right?

There's no pain, no suffering, just bang! And the dirt is gone.

Was Alex really worth it?

The thought ran through my head like a frolicking, fat farmer, rearing its head at me with tantalising intent.

I had raised the question so often, yet I had always dismissed it. But was this miserable buggar of a man (who may already be dead, and who I hadn't seen in a month) worth the trouble?

Eugh. This whole 'being good' malarkey is ridiculous.

I had reached the Headquarters. As only Big Bertha and her evil minions could see through the magical façade, I passed through unaware, filing into the ranks undetected.

I wibbled and wobbled my way through the clusters of people who should've been doing adverts for Oral B, my eyes searching the signs for something that sounded vaguely like where I needed to go.

I didn't know much, but I figured this place wasn't like something out of Monsters Inc.

There wasn't going to be a portal to every door on Earth.

This building was pretty small.

Logic, right?

That means there has to be one single portal, a universal, magical, shiny, whoopiedoo, I-can-go-to-anywhere-I-damn-well-like-portal.

All I had to do was find it and program it so it went to Hell.

With my objective in mind, I filed down a promising looking corridor.

The more I progressed down the corridor, the less Guardian Angels there were about. The ones present seemed to stand straighter, to be older, their wings more defined and well groomed.

I ducked my head yet smiled whenever I passed someone. Referring back to my natural ability of being a ninja, no one questioned my presence.

It was going well.

Thankfully, at the end of the corridor there was indeed a big door, a grand door, one which said 'PORTAL' on it in bright lettering.

Unfortunately, it was guarded by a brute.

"Identification required." He said in a monotonous voice.

"Sure mate, of course. Uh... Thumb scanner or...?"

"You must be new." He stated with a patient smile. "Your card, identity card."

"Oh!" I said, hitting my forehead with the palm of my hand. "Sorry about that buddy! Let me just get my good ol' identity card..."

I chuckled nervously as I rifled around in the pockets. Huh? I groped onto something rectangular and pulled it out.

Whoa! It was indeed an identity card. Ha, Big Bertha's magical fairy dust may have covered all aspects to complete the disguise.

Winking triumphantly, I handed it to the guy, who checked it before handing it back.

"Go on in. It's been quiet today, you'll be able to get through quickly." With a nod, he shuffled out of the way, allowing me the ability to get past.

I twisted the ornate handle. Inside, it was simplicity yet a load of complicated shadazzle.

The daunting images of a Monsters Inc scenario evaporated.

I was faced with a key pad and a cylindrical chamber. The Key Pad stated 'enter location' and had a timer so I could get it before it launched.

This was as simple as Donald Trump's brain!

Whoops, sorry. I forgot that the cheeto doesn't have a brain...

Practically skipping over to the screen, I tried for the simple option and typed in 'Hell'.

It rejected the phrase, flashing up with the notification 'PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC'.

Alrighty. The bossy instructions made me remember Bertha...

Talking of Bertha, a familiar voice squealed over the loudspeakers, assaulting my ears like it was a Normandy Beach.

I looked down at myself and saw a blinking laser. I had forgotten all about the camera strapped on me.

"INFERNO! YOU HAVE VIOLATED THE RULES OF REGULATIONS OF GUARDIAN ANGEL ACADEMY AND THE RULES OF THE ACTIVITY. STEP AWAY FROM THE SCREEN. YOU HAVE NOT BEEN AUTHORISED! I REPEAT: YOU HAVE NOT BEEN AUTHORISED!"

I whipped out my card and waved it around my head, "Ha, I actually do!"

"YOU DUMMY! YOU FART CLOUD! YOU IDOL OF IDIOT-WORSHIPPORS! WHAT IN ALL THAT IS HOLY ARE YOU DOING?"

"It's for a friend. I need to, uh, give someone a lift." I said, panicking as a tried to recall any street names in Hell.

It was difficult. Most of them had 666 layers of graffiti and grime on them.

"OH MY GOODNESS! I'M SENDING IN THE RECOVERY TEAM! YOU WILL BE ARRESTED IF YOU MAKE ONE MORE MOVE!"

Bingo! Ignoring the latest instalment on the loudspeakers, I typed in the address I knew and loved – the building and room my office was situated in.

Pressing enter, I was more than relieved when it flashed green in approval.

Steps pounded down the corridor. I actually attempted to sprint toward the chamber, the 30 second allowance for me to seal myself in ticking down.

The door flung open, a bunch of men and woman with sour faces stared out at me.

I entered the chamber.

But they entered with me.

And poof.

We were gone.